


A Little Brains - A Little Talent

by dirtyblonde



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Carl Grimes, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Banter, Dirty Talk, Flirting, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27684556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyblonde/pseuds/dirtyblonde
Summary: Negan is deputy in a new town and meets Carl while out for a little target practice.
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Negan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 69





	A Little Brains - A Little Talent

**Author's Note:**

> Just a disclaimer to basically say that I don't know shit about guns or shooting ranges, so I take full responsibility for any inaccuracies on that front although I don't really think I got into anything too technical. Otherwise, enjoy and stay safe out there ♥

Negan arrived at the shooting range with his usual air of easy arrogance. He eyed the few shooters currently at the outdoor gallery: couple of old geezers, middle-aged blonde, young buck down at the farthest stall barely distinguishable in the distance. It was a grey day. After a few moments he finally caught sight of the desk clerk loping slowly toward him across the grass.

“Looking for a day pass there, son?” came the man’s age-worn voice as he stepped behind the counter, still almost shouting even though he’d lately removed the noise dampening earmuffs which now encircled his neck. Clearly he was familiar with all of his regular shooters.

“Registering actually,” Negan replied. “I’m the new deputy.” He flashed the badge at his hip, angling it up at the club manager with a thumb by way of explanation.

“Moved from out of state?” The clerk asked.

“Yessir.”

“You’ll have to update your licences.”

“Not a problem. I’ll bring everything ‘round later this week. Think I could rent something for a coupla hours?”

The man nodded.

“Negan.”

“Hershel.”

The two men shared a gruff, obligatory handshake.

“Pleased to know ya.”

“Likewise. Lemme see what I’ve got available.”

Once Negan had been outfitted for the afternoon, he swaggered down to the far end of the range and installed himself one lane away from the figure he considered to be of the greatest interest to him. Up close the boy looked to be between seventeen and twenty-five. Brown floppy hair. Scowlish expression. And it took Negan barely a moment to deduce why. The kid was holding his rifle (the kind that was so expensive it didn’t look it) as if he’d never even been in the same _room_ as a gun before, let alone held one. Gripped all awkward at wrong angles. As Negan watched in his periphery, the boy got off a shot that went wildly astray of its intended target.

Negan bit back a chortle, keeping his head down to make it seem like he was wholly engrossed in carefully arranging his rented handgun and box of bullets on the small table before him.

“You laughing at me?” The stranger turned to Negan with a distressed expression. “Guess I’m not very good,” he continued after a moment, his voice a local drawl, face breaking into a smile that was both shy and playful. He allowed himself a loose shrug, rifle hanging down from one hand as he ran the fingers of his other nervously through the back of his hair.

“You’re not so bad,” Negan lied. The boy was not convinced in the slightest. God he was cute. “How long you been shootin’?”

“Not too long. Although, we might not be in complete agreement as to what constitutes a long time,” he responded with another teasing smirk. _Flirtation?_ Negan nearly growled his approval at such cheek, instead allowing himself to break into a wolfish grin at the insinuation.

“How old are you anyway?” Not very tactful, but certainly straight to the point. And technically speaking he hadn’t made the first foray into generational territory.

“I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.” The boy seemed naïve to any potential ulterior motive behind the question. “Name’s Carl by the way.” He approached Negan with his hand outstretched, the two meeting in front of the vacant lane. When they were finally up close face-to-face Negan was surprised to notice that the kid had a glass eye on the right side, some scarring. But the only thing about Carl’s eyes Negan could focus on were the thick black lashes that framed them.

Carl clearly thought Negan was feeling some type of way about his eye and shrunk into himself uncomfortably, confidence wavering for the first time during their encounter. Evidently ignorant bumpkins gawking was an all too familiar occurrence in Carl’s life. Negan felt a protective rage ebb within him.

“Negan,” he responded, pushing past the moment and taking Carl’s hand in his. Calloused but soft. If Carl thought Negan’s name unusual he kept it to himself. They fell apart after a moment longer than was strictly necessary, Carl looking almost flushed. “Well, if you’re interested in becoming a sharpshooter you might need a few lessons,” Negan said, clearing his throat and trying to recapture the lightness of their earlier mood.

“Oh really. Is that why you came down here? To give me some tips?” Carl goaded, eyebrows raised in mock incredulity as he easily recovered his composure. He offered his rifle to Negan making sure to keep the barrel pointed safely downrange. They stood there frozen in tableau as Carl watched Negan, a brazen challenge glinting in the younger man’s eyes as Negan considered how far he was willing to push his luck. Something about Carl was already settling comfortably under his skin. Too comfortably. But Negan couldn’t resist.

“Let’s see if I don’t have a thing or two to teach you.”

“Impress me Negan.” The voice sounded almost sultry to Negan’s ears. The two men were little more than a foot apart as they both directed their attention to the task at hand. But Negan couldn’t help getting distracted by how good Carl smelled. Clean, like cedar and gun oil. He also forced himself to ignore how soft Carl’s hair looked. He willed himself not to get hard with little success.

“Now I’m no marksman,” Negan qualified by way of preamble, desperately trying to shift his focus. He took the gun and began trying to line himself up with a mid-range target. As he did, he felt keenly aware that Carl was greedily taking him in. Attention moving over his broad shoulders, chest, his ass and thighs, passing briefly over the badge just visible at his waist. Maybe Carl wasn’t quite the shrinking violet he appeared to be, Negan considered absent-mindedly before he truly let every detail that wasn’t contained within his sight fall away in order to take his shot.

The report of the rifle echoed loudly and Negan was pleased to note that he’d hit his target cleanly. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been that he might miss in the instant he’d squeezed the trigger, that he was uncharacteristically _desperate_ to impress. Internally he compartmentalized this observation while outwardly his grin flashed broad and winning, as if he were a natural – I mean for all Carl knew he really was.

Negan lowered the rifle and turned to Carl only to discover that his pupil hadn’t been taking in the lesson at all. Carl was angled perpendicular to the range He’d been watching Negan the whole time. He had the gall to feign shy. A regular coquette.

“You gonna show me?” Carl asked.

With a little more roughness than intended Negan grabbed Carl’s upper arm and pulled him between his chest and the gun, their body heat mingling pleasantly. Lust began to overwhelm then, clouding his brain so that touching Carl wherever the boy would let him was practically all he could think about. Negan let his hand tug at Carl’s shoulder to straighten his posture but all pretense was abandoned after a moment. Negan shifted his weight forward to crowd Carl, their bodies meeting flush as the rifle was abandoned on the table before them. When he cupped Carl’s cock through his jeans the boy’s hands hit the table in an instant, bracing as he pressed his ass backward into Negan’s bulging erection.

“Oh fuck yes, touch me,” Carl encouraged when he felt Negan unzipping his fly and pulling him out, already hard and dripping precum. The two spared barely a moment to worry that they might be observed, the probability of being caught at their deserted end of the range highly unlikely, neither much caring either way. Negan handled him roughly, finishing every downstroke with a twist of the wrist that had Carl choking back desperate moans. His head fell bonelessly back to rest on Negan’s shoulder.

“Getting close already,” Negan rumbled with a chiding tsk despite the fact that he was obviously thrilled by Carl’s responsiveness.

“Please…” Carl whimpered as Negan continued to work him mercilessly.

“What do you want?”

“I–“ Carl stammered ineffectually as Negan thrust against him.

“Beg for it.” His tone was dark and dangerous.

“Oh god, please, fuck, make me cum. I want it so bad.”

“Yeah? Are you a filthy whore that lets a stranger get him off?”

Carl bit his lip so hard a little blood welled to the surface but he didn’t respond. His insides felt molten.

“Tell me what you want Carl.” An undisputable command this time that compelled Carl to answer or suffer the consequences.

“I want you to make me cum. Please, please, don’t stop touching me. If we were somewhere else I’d let you do so much more than touch.” The last was practically a whisper.

Carl’s words sent Negan into a veritable frenzy, stroking Carl to an orgasm that punched all the air from his lungs as he shot ropes of cum onto the grass at their feet.

“Yes. Cum for me,” Negan said in gruff approval, tying the weight of his permission to the act.

Regaining focus after what felt like a blackout Carl registered Negan heaving with effort, still bracketing him from behind and achingly hard. Negan had already tucked Carl’s cock back into his pants and straightened his jeans. Carl turned and for a moment they stood stock still but for their laboured breathing, faces mere inches apart.

“Here, let me,” Carl said almost gently, reaching out for the thick line of Negan’s cock trapped within his jeans, but Negan stilled Carl’s hand.

“No. Not today,” he said simply, a promise in his words.

“Okay,” Carl replied with an understanding nod. His shy smile was back and Negan was dazzled by it, absolutely bewitched. Carl took a quick glance at his watch and he mouthed an inaudible _shit_ to himself. In a minute he had his rifle and bag packed up, clearly ready to leave. Negan’s eyes lingered on the florid hickey beginning bloom purple against the pale column of Carl’s throat and realized with surprise that he didn’t even remember doing it.

“Well, good to meet you Negan. I guess I’ll see you when you see me,” Carl said, wink implied, before walking away with long, confident strides.

Negan said nothing and watched the retreating figure as though hypnotized.

He made short work of his ammunition once he was alone, brain an absolute mess obsessively reliving every second of what he’d done to Carl. He was a wreck, he felt like a lovesick teenager. As he fired aimlessly down the gallery all he could think about was Carl, the smell and the feel and the sound of him, erection barely flagging until he was done shooting.

This time when Negan arrived at the range counter Hershel was sitting dutifully behind it engrossed in a copy of _Better Homes & Gardens_. He placed his rented gear distractedly upon the smooth tabletop.

“Real big of you to take some pointers from the young gun there deputy,” Hershel rumbled as he lay his magazine down and began writing out Negan’s receipt on an ancient looking carbon copy form. “Not many grown men would. I think that’s why the old fogies keep their distance,” he added with a chuckle, shaking his head and indicating the two seniors a few lanes down. It took Negan a minute to fully comprehend what he was hearing and he scrutinized the man before him a little more closely, clearly he wasn’t as lucid and lively as Negan had initially thought.

“ _Me_ take pointers? Boy couldn’t hit a barn at close range!” Negan’s expression was dubious but still a little glassy. Hershel looked at him sideways, a gentle smile beginning to turn his mouth at one corner.

“ _Carl_?”

“Carl,” Negan confirmed, still running hot from his pent-up arousal which made him bristle with irritation. “Tall. Lanky. Smart mouth. Glass eye.”

The clerk looked like he was struggling with himself, trying to swallow a whoop of laughter as he determined whether he should speak any further. The furrow at Negan’s brow deepened.

“Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I think the kid was funnin’ with you.”

“Come again?”

“Carl. I think he was taking you for a ride; playing a little joke on you.”

Hershel could still sense waves of skepticism rolling off of the deputy and directed a pointed gaze to the left of the desk. The walls were wood paneled, covered in the usual assortment of plaques, photographs, and trophies: the kind of décor that was the common feature to every range showroom. Negan turned and found himself examining a modest stretch of wall that was a veritable shrine to Carl’s prowess with a gun. Awards for marksmanship going back more than ten years alongside glowing newspaper clippings. Even a rifle encased in plexiglass that boasted to being the very family heirloom a primary school-aged Carl had learned to shoot with.

“Well I’ll be damned. Guess I got myself suckered.” Negan bit back his venom with a good-natured smile that had a razor sharp edge. As he returned to the registration desk shaking his head, Hershel split the receipt and placed the yellow portion on the counter.

“I hope he’s not upset your pride too badly.”

“Not at all. Just a light bruising,” Negan gritted out.

“He’s really a good kid if you get to know him.”

“I guess that remains to be seen,” Negan said coolly. He stuffed his receipt into the back pocket of his jeans and headed for the vestibule to take his leave. “Until next time Hershel.” He waved without looking back.

“You take care son,” Hershel replied, watching the imposing newcomer’s departing figure with shrewd consideration.

Negan could barely maintain his composure as he crossed the parking lot to reach the sanctuary of his beat up old Mercury, the slam of its door unusually jarring. He spent the whole ride home fixated on his speedometer to ensure that he drove at a reasonable pace, knowing that the second he got inside he’d be pulling himself raw to the vivid, technicolour memory of Carl cumming after barely a few good strokes. Not to mention all of the fantasies he was dreaming up for the next time he saw him.

No one got one over on Negan and got away with it.


End file.
